


A Winning Formula

by LateStarter58



Series: Sarah's Smutty Notebook [24]
Category: British Actor RPF, Motorcycling RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Jealousy, Motorcycles, Past Relationship(s), Racing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 12:26:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17284055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateStarter58/pseuds/LateStarter58
Summary: Tom's girlfriend introduces him to some old friends and discovers a side of him she didn't expect





	A Winning Formula

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this smutty one-shot to thank my followers for their support when I reached over 400 on my writing blog and, and over 500 on my main blog on Tumblr a few years ago. As some of you may have already gathered, two great loves of my life are TWH and music, but the third is motorcycle racing. After all the music fics I have posted here, here is one which finally gets Tom to the race circuit. Please note: the riders I mention by name are real. And Leon is pretty hot! Google him and you will see...

‘Oh, come on, Tom! It’s only fair. I sat through all those tennis matches with you.’

‘Yeah, but you like tennis, don’t you?’

I pulled a face.

‘Well, anyway, all day? Outside? In a crowd, on Bank Holiday Monday?’

‘Are you Valentino Rossi, Marc Marquez, Frankie Chili or Troy Bayliss?’

He looked puzzled.

‘What? Who…? No, of course not…’

‘Have you ever been featured in MCN?’

His mouth began to form a pout. ‘No.’

‘I know Benedict has…’ I muttered, grinning,  ‘Then nobody will look at you twice darling, especially if you wear your sunnies and a hat.’

He still looked unconvinced, but I was determined to go. I had missed every round since we started dating - for various reasons - and this was an opportunity to introduce my boyfriend to the other great love of my life: motorcycle racing. I had been sent two VIP passes to the British Superbikes at Cadwell Park by an old pal and I knew we would have a great time. Nevertheless, I understood his reluctance. I renewed my assault.

‘Look Thomas, I am pretty sure that if you look at the Venn diagram of Hiddlestoners and British Superbike fans, the only point of convergence is me.’

He laughed his funny little ‘ehehehe’ laugh and put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. ‘OK, you win.’

I punched the air.

…………………………………………………………

We travelled up to Lincolnshire in my car, a ten-year-old Audi A4 convertible. Fun, comfy, reasonably luxurious and, more to the point, much less ostentatious or  _conspicuous_  than his fancy brand-new Jag. He was happy to let me drive, as he was still quite tired after weeks of shooting in Ireland. We were staying in a nice small hotel in Market Rasen; one that caters mainly for the horseracing crowd, judging from the décor, but it suited us. I was looking forward to meeting up with old friends; before I got the job on a movie magazine which led me to meet Tom, I had worked for five years on various motorbike publications, and I had got to know many of the riders, teams and other journos.

As we approached the circuit with the top down (it was a lovely day so I ignored Tom’s objections) I heard the familiar rumble of hundreds of motorcycles moving slowly as they queued to enter the track. The deep bass resonated through my body and I began to get excited; I had missed this. Once we were inside on our way to the VIP parking, the other features of a race weekend made their appearance: the smells of fried food and 2-stroke petrol; the higher-pitched sound of race bikes being revved and circulating on the track; the shuffle of thousands of pairs of feet as the spectators made their way in; the incomprehensible squawk of the tannoy. I was deeply happy, not least to be sharing the experience with Tom.

The trouble – if that’s not too strong a word for it – started almost immediately. We got to the VIP parking with no problems. There was a good crowd as there usually is for this meeting, a wide spectrum of ages from babes in arms, families laden with picnics and chairs, through the usual shaven-headed bikers who could be any age from 25 to 70, to the older couples on their sofa-esque Honda Goldwings. Passing bikers looked at the car (a convertible always attracts a bit of attention if the top is down), and one or two guys looked at me, but as I predicted, nobody even glanced at Tom, much to his relief. Walking through the streams of people to the hospitality unit for the team who had sent me the tickets, again, no one seemed to recognise him. Then we reached the truck with attached marquee which would serve as our base for the day and Andy, head of their PR team saw us approaching and ran over to greet me.

‘Nicky, babe! So glad you could come!’

He hugged me tightly and kissed me on both cheeks. I introduced Tom just as ‘Tom’ and I saw a flicker of something in Andy’s eyes but I quelled him with a look and a surreptitious finger on my lips. He winked.

‘Great to meet you Tom. You are a lucky man; we’ve missed Nicky. It’s just not the same without her beautiful face around. Sent her the passes to  _make_  her come and see us!’

We settled down with coffees and croissants and I explained the programme to Tom. There are several classes and the first events of the day are the warm-up sessions. Once we had finished our late breakfast we wandered out to watch as the Superbike guys went around, checking their engine and suspension set-ups and trying to finalise their tyre choices. This last was going to be tricky, as the weather, although sunny but cool now, was set to deteriorate. I talked Tom through the top contenders, all of whom I knew personally, of course.

The circuit at Cadwell is an exciting one, with many changes of elevation; it is sometimes called the ‘mini Nurburgring’. It has one scary section called the  _Mountain_  where bikes take off into the air, not a usual thing in track racing, and a test of the nerve as much as of the skill of the rider. I was slightly worried about the possibility of rain, because it can make everything more dangerous and bike racing is a risky sport at the best of times.

The morning passed pleasantly, with the two of us keeping a low profile. The weather began to look threatening. A while after warm-up came the pit-lane walkabout, where the fans get a chance to meet the riders. I had to twist his arm, but eventually Tom agreed to join me, and that was when things really began to get awkward. As we entered the pits area I heard a loud voice call my name in a broad Yorkshire brogue. It was Whit, of course. James Whitham and I had worked together on magazines - me acting as his editor/ghost writer on occasion - for years. He is great company and hilariously funny (at times – he’s not what you’d call ‘woke’), hence his current employment as a TV commentator and expert on motorcycle racing. He was a racer himself for years. I turned towards the sound of his voice as he strode over to us. When he reached us he picked me up off my feet and swung me round. I was a little taken aback; it was only a few months since we had seen each other.

I swatted at him. ‘Put me down, Jamie!’

He did, but only after a big squeezy cuddle and kiss. I glanced at Tom; he was glaring at Whit, who was oblivious to his discomfort. I raised my eyebrows in a ‘what can you do’ expression, but Tom did not appear mollified.

‘Where the fookin’ ‘ell have you been all season?’

‘I do have a job you know, one that takes me to smarter places than bike circuits these days. And I have a boyfriend. This is Tom.’ Jamie shook his hand firmly.

‘You’re a lucky fella, how’d you snag her? All the lads asked her out, but she turned them down.’

Tom grinned; he seemed less annoyed after hearing that.

‘It must be the height,’ he quipped. Most – but by no means all - motorcycle racers tend to be short, and Tom was towering over Whit at that moment. So was I; at 5’10’’ I was taller than most of the guys.

Jamie laughed. ‘Yeah, that’ll be it.’

We worked our way down the pit lane, and I waved to a few of the racers who spotted me as they sat signing pictures and talking to fans. There was a lovely atmosphere, as there always is at BSB meets. No prima donnas here, only light security. The series management, teams and riders keep things friendly, family-orientated; the big stars are accessible and welcoming. I had several reunions with old friends amongst the teams and the press and TV crews. Tom was starting to relax, I could see it on his face, and he was soaking it all up. Then I heard a voice behind me, and my heart sank a little.

‘Nick? Is that you?’

It was Leon. I had forgotten he would be there. He had no racing contract for that year so had been substituting for an injured rider in World Supers and now he had turned up in BSB for a few rounds.

_Oh shit._

Leon was the only rider I had actually dated. Well, had a fling with would be more accurate. And I could see from Tom’s face that he guessed; something in the tone of voice, the familiarity perhaps or simply the fact that Leon is over 6 feet tall. I grabbed Tom’s hand quickly and pressed against his side. I didn’t want him or Leon to get the wrong idea. But the lanky racer insisted on a hug. I hate hugging guys in leathers, they always feel cold, clammy and weird, but he was insistent. I looked over his shoulder at Tom, whose face was stony; Leon had one hand on my arse.

_Oh shit, indeed._

‘Leon, darling, how’s things?’ I tried to act nonchalant, wriggling out of his arms. I had never seen Tom looking jealous before, but then, up until now, when were out together  _he_   had always been the centre of attention.

‘Oh, you know, picking up what I can. Might have something for next year though.’

He smiled. He is a great-looking guy; that was the trouble. If he had been an ogre Tom might not have minded so much.

‘That’s great news! Let me introduce you: my  _boyfriend,_ Tom. This is Leon Camier.’ They shook hands a little frostily. ‘Leon was the BSB champion a few years back.’ Tom looked distinctly unimpressed.

Fortunately, there was a race looming so we had to leave to allow Leon and the rest of the field to prepare. We watched the race from the viewing area on the top of the hospitality unit, and Tom seemed to enjoy it. The noise, the colours, the excitement is infectious. Tom had been a little quiet as we walked back through the paddock towards the hospitality, but he seemed to have brushed off the Leon incident, and he didn’t ask me about him. After the race the team’s riders and pit crews came in to have lunch with us. The team leader, Shane ‘Shakey’ Byrne was one of my oldest friends in racing. I worked with him on my very first job in journalism, ghost-writing his column in the mag I got my break with. He was and is a delight; an open, honest, funny friend, and very, very talented. The reigning champion and currently topping the standings, he had been in pole position for the first race, finishing second in dodgy conditions.

When he saw me he and his wife Petra came straight over to us, and Shakey leaned over to kiss me. He and Petra made a big fuss of me while I held their little girl on my lap. Tom enjoyed this and the rest of the lunch went well, Petra and the kids joining us while Shakey sat with his race engineer and the mechanics so they could discuss set-up for what looked like being a wet second race. The weather went downhill rapidly, and there were red flags to stop races as well as several – happily non-serious – crashes. Shakey nabbed another second in the other race, and even better, all his closest rivals had bad days so his lead in the championship was strengthened. As we were staying nearby, Tom and I lingered, sheltering from the now-solid rain while the bulk of the crowds left the circuit and only set off when it was quite late. He was quiet in the car, and that wasn’t like him.

‘Is something wrong, Tom?’

We had only been seeing each other for a few months, and I was still unsure if this was going to last. After all, I’m just a lowly journalist and he’s… well, he’s  _Tom Hiddleston_. He turned his head and looked at me, his expression very serious. My heart fell to my boots.

_Oh fuck, he’s going to dump me_

‘It has been a very interesting day. I have seen a whole new side to you.’

Now I was really worried. Something I had done had put him off me, I was sure.

‘I have seen you in your natural environment, I suppose, with people who have known you much longer than I have.’ He paused.

_Here it comes…_

‘I suppose I felt strange because that is a world I know absolutely nothing about. And you seem to be better known there than I am.’ He paused again, apparently thinking. ‘It was fun.’

I let out the long breath I had been holding unwittingly.‘Well, I worked with those guys for years. I miss them.’ I smiled. ‘Well, some of them.’

He laughed. Then I looked over and his face was serious again, his mouth a line of tension. ‘Is  _Leon_ one of the ones you miss?’

_Ah, so that’s it_

‘No. I suppose you want to know about us?’ He turned his head sharply.

‘So you did fuck him? I thought so!’

‘Yes, we had a little thing a few years ago, but it didn’t mean anything Tom, and it was over really fast.’

He made a low grunting noise, one I assumed meant irritation, but he didn’t ask any more and I changed the subject.

But when we got back to our hotel room he pulled me into his arms and kissed me roughly, pushing me up against the door. I returned the kiss but he still seemed angry with me.

_So he was jealous._

I felt a shiver of excitement. I hadn’t made a man jealous for a while, but when I had it usually led to good sex. And sex with Tom, well the default was magnificent, so  _jealous Tom_  sex? Suddenly I was very, very aroused. I decided to play the innocent.

‘Are you angry with me darling?’

‘Not angry, no. I just want to remind you who you are with now.’

_As if I could forget_

I grabbed his hair and pulled his face back down onto mine. I’m not good at relinquishing control, and so far Tom had seemed to like that. I had no intention of changing. He was grinding his pelvis against me and I was pushing back; his erection was prominent, pressing into my stomach almost painfully. I opened my legs a little wider.

‘I like that those guys all fancy you, Nicky.’

‘Do you, Tom?’

He was kissing and biting my neck; I tried to concentrate on what he was saying.

‘Yes, because they can’t have you. You…are…mine.’

He punctuated each word with a nip at my skin and a thrust of his hips. I was dripping with want.

‘Please Tom…’

‘Yes darling?’

‘Please fuck me.’

‘With great pleasure.’

He scooped me up and threw me on the bed, making me squeal. I clapped a hand over my mouth. It was a quiet, family sort of hotel. Tom laughed darkly.

‘Oh dear. Shush! You might frighten the horses.’

He removed his clothes, and I watched, enjoying the view. I gasped with pleasure as each new exquisitely beautiful part was revealed. He basked in my admiration, drawing the process out; not quite stripping for me, but certainly putting on a show. Finally, magnificently naked, he crawled up the bed to me. I was still fully dressed.

‘Now, Nicky, you are wearing altogether too much clothing.’

‘What are you going to do about it, Thomas?’

He said nothing, but grabbed two handfuls of my t-shirt and yanked it over my head, falling on my boobs like a starving man. He made short work of my bra and licked and sucked on my nipples in the way he knew drove me crazy.

‘Did you ever dress like those umbrella girls?’

‘No, I did not! I’ll have you know I was and am a serious journalist…oh!’

As usual when he wanted to distract me he knew exactly how to do so; he had put his hand down inside the waistband of my jeans, just brushing the top of my mound. I tend to lose my eloquence when that happens. I wriggled out of my remaining clothes with his help and soon we were both naked. Tom lay next to me, leaning his head on one hand while the other traced a path down my body from my shoulder to the place I was dying for him to touch. He was looking at me with the intensity he saved for moments like this. I had seen him flirt with fans and admirers, and the effect his looks had on women, but this was of a different order. I had never felt more wanted by any man. His mouth began to follow his fingertips, my skin burning under the feel of his lips and tongue.

I could feel his cock digging into my thigh, but he seemed determined to take his time. His response to feeling jealous seemed very different to any other man I had been with; I liked it better.

‘Did he do this?’

‘What? Who?’ I was already becoming incoherent; his mouth did that to me, wherever it made contact.

‘ _Leon_ ,’ he snarled.

‘Tom, it was one weekend four years ago. I don’t –ah! - really remember – don’t stop!’

The dark chuckle was back. He knew he had me where he wanted. I tried to reach for his cock but he was too fast for me.

‘Not yet. I mean to make you come so hard you won’t let another man in racing leathers touch your arse, ever again.’

‘Ah, so you spotted that then. Sorry – ooh!’

His lips had reached my core, and he gave me a long, lazy lick from bottom to top. I wanted to press his face against me, but he wove his fingers into mine and held my hands away while he worked on me with his lips, teeth and tongue. I bucked my hips, moaning loudly and he pulled back, clicking his tongue to admonish me.

‘Now, now, behave. And darling, keep the noise down; this is a nice hotel.’

‘Then stop teasing me! Jesus Tom…’

‘I don’t like other men touching you like that.’

‘I didn’t want it either, but I wasn’t a virgin when we met, was I?’

He winced. ‘No, I know, but I can’t help feeling this way.’

He returned to his ministrations and soon I was writhing with pleasure again.

‘Did  _Leon_ ever make you come like I do?’

‘Tom, – ah! –  _nobody_  ever made me come like you do, and you –ooh! – know it.’

I looked down at his face, which was split with a wide grin. Suddenly he moved up the bed – he can do that really,  _really_  fast – and before I could register what was happening he entered my sopping cunt with one swift stroke. I came, grabbing at his as my body flexed around him. He rode my orgasm out, moving gently. He tucked his head into the crook of my neck, kissing me softly.

‘Oh god you feel so great Nicky. So hot and tight.’

Gathering my wits, I wrapped my legs around him and he began to undulate his body against me. I knew it wouldn’t be long before I came again, and I was right. This time he did not let up, but instead increased his rhythm until he was pounding into me. He hadn’t done this before, just fucked me in quite such a basic way. I suppose it was the jealousy, but I wasn’t complaining.

The sheer force of his thrusts sent me over the top a third time and I felt dizzy with it. Tom was snarling with every jerk of his hips, so unlike his previous behaviour. Leon’s attentions had obviously awoken something in him. I liked it. Our bodies were bathed in sweat; the rain pattered on the window almost in time with our joining. I began to lose the sense of where he ended and I began; my hands moved over him searching for somewhere to hold. His moans became louder and his movements more erratic and then I felt his cock spurting inside me.

He stayed there, his head nestled against my shoulder until his breathing had slowed a little, then he slipped out and rolled on his side next to me. I turned my head and he smiled at me.

‘Sorry about that. I went a bit mad for a moment; I was jealous.’

‘I know. There was no need to be, but I have to admit…’

He lifted his head to look at me ‘What?’

‘I might be tempted to make you jealous again. I wonder when the next race is…’


End file.
